Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love

by Samantha Kane

  “When you proposed, Freddy, you made a point of saying how much I deserved to be duchess.” She looked at them. “And you agreed, Brett.” Her tone was neutral, conversational.

  “Yes.” Freddy kept his tone light. “I still believe that.”

  Anne spared him a smile. “You told me that even if I didn’t believe you loved me, that I should marry you because you were duke, and you could make my life so much better.” She paused to look out one of the windows. The horizon was ablaze in the pinks and bright red orange of a midsummer sunset. Freddy and Brett stopped as well. “Do you remember what my reply was, Freddy?”

  Freddy smiled ruefully. “You said no.”

  Anne shook her head and turned to him with a rueful smile of her own. “No. I said that you already made my life better.” She stepped over to him and took his hands in hers. She tilted her head and rubbed the back of his left hand against her soft, smooth cheek. “These past two weeks have been the happiest of my life, Freddy.” She looked at Brett tenderly as she lowered Freddy’s hand. “And not because you’ve bought me beautiful dresses and fine Indian shawls. Although I thank you for the gifts.” She moved between the two men and slid her hands through both their arms and with a tug got them moving down the Gallery again. “They’ve been wonderful simply because I have shared them with you. I want you both, not for what you can give me but for what you bring to my life.”

  Freddy’s heart lurched in his chest. He’d never had anyone want him simply because he was Freddy. Anne wouldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t accept his gifts. What she wanted, what she would accept, was the gift of himself, his body and his love. “Anne,” he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips. He gently kissed her fingertips. “You are marvelous.”

  “I told you we would be getting a lesson in Anne’s idea of what a mistress is, Freddy,” Brett said with undisguised emotion. “I was right.”

  Anne was shaking her head. “No. Not mistress—lover. That is how I see the three of us. We are lovers.”

  “And what is the difference?” Freddy asked, guiding Anne to the door that led to the dining room.

  “Why, love, of course,” Anne replied.

  “You want to sit in here? Whatever for?” Anne looked around the library in distaste. Dinner had been delightful. The food was outrageously delicious. Freddy and Brett had entertained her with stories about their friends and their life in London. Freddy was enormously amusing, imitating mannerisms and speech, and Brett had a dry sense of humor that complemented Freddy’s outrageousness. There had been four footmen and Reeves to wait on them. Anne had expected someone to cut her meat and hold her fork for her. It was rather disconcerting.

  “You don’t like it?” Freddy asked noncommittally about the library.

  “Like it? I loath it. It is the most unwelcoming room I’ve ever encountered,” she said succinctly. “Uncle Ash must be wailing his displeasure at Heaven’s door to see books treated in such a fashion.”

  Brett sat down in a small, spindly chair that looked as if it were going to groan in agony at his weight. “What do you think Freddy should do in here, Anne?” He set his scotch down on the equally flimsy table next to him.

  Anne seriously considered his question. “Well, the first thing I’d do is remove the cages from the shelves.” She walked around the room’s perimeter studying the books in the cases. “Although, if I remember correctly, you have some valuable books here, Freddy.” She pointed to the cases at the end of the room, in a darkened alcove that had been turned into a display area for bric-a-brac. “You should keep those cases locked and put the most valuable books in there, where they are more easily preserved from light and exposure.”

  She stood in the middle of the room with her head cocked as she considered the library. How Uncle Ash had loved his books! And how Bertie had hated to read. She couldn’t help smiling at the memories of all the times he’d cursed his tutor to perdition with his books. She couldn’t recall being in the library at Ashton Park when the two were alive, so she didn’t know what it had looked like before. Surely not like this. “Did the duchess redecorate this room?”

  Freddy nodded as he sat next to Brett. He didn’t look quite as precarious as Brett in the spindly chair, but it still seemed awkward. “Yes, although why she decided to make it the most uncomfortable room in the house I can’t imagine.”

  Anne laughed wryly. “I can. Because Uncle Ash loved his books desperately. He was rarely to be found without one in his hand.”

  “Ahhh,” Brett said, picking up his glass and taking a sip as he looked around. “That explains it.”

  Poor Freddy sighed. “I’m afraid it does. Thinking how much your mother hates your sire in the abstract is one thing. But this is tangible proof that enmity survives the grave.”

  Anne walked over and squeezed his shoulder and he patted her hand in acknowledgement of her sympathy. She pulled her hand away and put both hands on her hips as she looked around. “Well,” she said briskly, “simply removing the cages and putting some comfortable furniture in here will do wonders.” She wagged a finger at Freddy. “And you must make the furniture bright, Freddy. This room is far too dark with all the dark wood. Something light and floral perhaps, to soften its lines and open it up.” She walked along the bank of windows and spread her hands out. “Sofas and couches here, I think.” She turned and bent over, gesturing in front of her. “With plenty of tables to lay books out on.” She stood and pointed directly in front of her. “With chairs right across, to facilitate conversation.”

  She had a sudden inspiration and excitedly spun to face Freddy. “Oh, do you still have the porcelain vase collection? There were some outstanding Dutch and oriental pieces.” She pointed to the display cases on either side of the fireplace. “You should paint both the fireplace mantel and the displays, Freddy,” she told him, “and fill them with those vases. It would be a stunning display against the darkness of the floor and cases.” She tapped her index finger against her lower lip. “Perhaps some kind of gold, oriental paper for the walls,” she mused.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brett’s finger start to rub his upper lip. She turned and looked at him and Freddy with narrowed eyes. “What’s so funny?”

  Freddy raised an amused eyebrow. “For a woman who doesn’t want to be duchess, you certainly have some very clear ideas about how to redecorate my home. And I must say you know more about it than I do. What vase collection?”

  Anne felt the blush heating her cheeks. “You asked my opinion.”

  Freddy immediately got up and came over to her, taking her hands. “So we did, and it is appreciated, Anne. Don’t let my teasing ruin your fun. I love your ideas.”

  Anne laughed. “I did get a little carried away, didn’t I?”

  Brett stood and the chair creaked ominously as he put his weight on the arm. They all looked at it askance. “As I dislike this room intensely, my darling Anne, your ideas for its resurrection sound perfect.”

  Freddy grabbed a hold of Anne’s hand and she in turn grabbed a hold of Brett’s as Freddy tugged them all toward the door. “Since no one likes this room, let us adjourn.”

  “Where to next?” Brett inquired as he smiled lopsidedly at Anne, his drink dangling negligently from the fingers of his free hand. He was devastatingly handsome, dark and dangerous and seductive as he all but leered at her. Anne loved it. She loved him this way.

  “You choose,” Freddy told him.

  Brett replied with a shrug. “I haven’t any idea.”

  Anne laughed. “Well then, Freddy, you pick.”

  Freddy’s choice turned out to be his private drawing room. Anne held her head high as they climbed the stairs to the family’s private apartments, but she was mortified to so obviously accompany Freddy and Brett to the duke’s chambers in front of the servants. It would be all over the village before morning.

  Anne forgot her apprehension when she entered Freddy’s room. It was quite possibly the most wonderful room she’d ever been in. “Oh
Freddy, it’s marvelous!” she cried as she spun around in the middle of the room. She rushed over to run her fingers along the top of the gleaming piano in the corner. She pressed a key and wasn’t surprised to find it perfectly in tune. Pointing to the portrait over the fireplace, she asked, “Who is that?”

  Freddy shrugged. “I believe it is the eighth duke as a child.” He squinted at the painting. “I wasn’t going to change anything in here, but on further consideration that portrait must go.”

  Anne gasped in outrage. “You will not! That is a delightful portrait. I think it is charming that it hangs in the duke’s apartments.”

  Freddy looked at Brett in bewilderment. Brett just shrugged. “Women,” he said, and Freddy nodded sagely. Anne snorted and turned her back on them to wander around the room.

  Freddy watched Anne where she sat curled up on the blue silk sofa in front of the window, leaning against the arm, her legs pulled up next to her. She’d kicked off her slippers and was sipping yet another glass of wine. They’d been talking for hours it seemed. They’d covered books, theater, politics, horse racing, wine and a host of other topics. Anne had endless questions for them.

  “So, you are brilliant when it comes to financial matters?” Anne asked Brett, catching a drop of wine on the tip of her finger as it slid down the side of her glass. She sucked the drop off while Brett watched avidly from a comfortable armchair he’d pulled over next to her. The chair was covered in orange upholstery with large cream flowers on it. The delicate nature of the chair emphasized his overt masculinity as Brett sprawled there. His legs were stretched out and crossed on a yellow ottoman, his cravat undone and tossed aside, his jacket and waistcoat unbuttoned. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and his cheek was pressed against his fist as he smiled at her. Anne smiled at him suggestively and sucked the finger longer than she needed to. Brett’s small smile brought out the slashing dimple in his cheek and the hunger in his eyes. The cleft in his chin seemed darker, deeper, dangerous, mysterious. Freddy wanted to dip his tongue into it and taste the heat and hunger of him.

  Brett shrugged modestly at Anne’s question. He took a drink of his own wine and licked the rim clean when he was done. Freddy saw Anne’s eyes darken as she stared at his mouth. Freddy’s own mouth watered at the two of them as they worked themselves into a fine state of arousal for him.

  “He is beyond brilliant, my dear,” Freddy assured her as he leaned forward and set his glass down on the table beside him. He sat at the other end of the sofa from Anne. He could feel the heat of her unshod feet as they pressed close to his thigh. He wasn’t sure what it was about Anne’s feet. He wanted to rub them, massage them and then let Anne rub him all over with those feet. The thought had his cock stirring with interest. Well, that would wait for another time. He had other plans this evening. He forced his mind back to the conversation.

  “Brett has made himself a tidy fortune, darling. He was being quite modest the other day. He has also made fortunes for several of our friends. He plays the Exchange as if it were a chess game. It is the one thing that has interested him since he returned from the war.”

  “Not the only thing,” Brett murmured. Freddy glanced over at him and was arrested by Brett’s intense gaze, focused on Freddy. Freddy suddenly found it difficult to think and breathe at the same time. Did Brett mean what he thought he meant? That he’d been interested in Freddy? But he hadn’t been, although it appeared that might be changing.

  Anne groaned in mock despair. “Ugh, I hate chess. I can’t figure out the moves. My father despaired. He and Uncle Ash used to spend hours playing, do you remember, Freddy? Although Uncle Ash swore he never would have won if my mother hadn’t come around periodically to take pity on him and whisper the right moves in his ear.”

  Brett laughed, his dimple flashing again, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight, the little lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. Freddy was mesmerized. Had he ever seen Brett laugh like that?

  “Well, it is similar to chess, actually. There’s a great deal of strategy involved, anticipating certain moves, gambling on investments the same way you gamble when you attempt to check your opponent’s queen.” Brett sounded as if he were going to go into a long explanation. He leaned over the arm of his chair and set his glass on the floor.

  Anne held up a hand and rolled her eyes. “Stop right there. I am lost already.” Freddy laughed at the consternation on Brett’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Anne. I didn’t mean to drone on.” Brett’s look was sheepish.

  “I didn’t give you the opportunity to drone,” Anne said with a grin. “So no apologies are necessary.”

  “So you don’t like chess?” Freddy asked innocently. He was delighted. Anne and Brett had followed his lead beautifully.

  Anne was sipping her wine and shook her head as she swallowed. “Mm, no, I’m afraid not. Why? Were you planning on a chess session this evening?” Her smile was teasing, a come-hither grin that challenged.

  Freddy responded to her challenge. “No. I had another game in mind.”

  Anne started to take another drink but Brett leaned forward and plucked the wineglass from her hand. He set it down next to his own. “I have a feeling, Anne, that neither of us can afford to drink more if we are going to play Freddy’s games.”

  Anne looked taken aback. “Really? Why? What kind of games does Freddy like?”

  Brett laughed again. “The kind that requires dexterity and sensitivity, as well as a clear head,” Brett told her, but he was looking at Freddy. His look scorched Freddy right down to his Hessians. Oh yes, Freddy had plans to play with Brett too. “Although I can’t really be sure. I’ve only ever played with Freddy two times.”

  “Only ever played with him two times? Whatever are you talking about, Brett?” Anne asked in confusion. “You’ve known him for over five years. Surely you’ve played games together?”

  “Not this kind.” Freddy spoke from where he sat at the end of the sofa, one arm draped across the back, the other resting on the arm. His legs were crossed, and he still had his damn cravat on. He hadn’t trusted himself to start undressing as Brett had. Freddy had been afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he’d been in no hurry to rush the evening to its inevitable conclusion. He was glad they’d talked for hours, learned more about one another. It had reaffirmed his goals. They were meant to be together, Brett and Anne and Freddy. Now he just had to convince these two.

  Anne blinked several times as understanding dawned. “Oh those kinds of games. I should like to play those kinds of games.” She sounded as thrilled as a child presented with a gaily wrapped package and Freddy knew this was the kind of gift she craved, this excitement, this heady air of expectation and desire.

  “I’m very glad to hear you’re in a playful mood,” Freddy said with a grin. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around Anne’s foot. He kept the friendly smile on his face. “The first rule is Anne has to be naked.”

  Chapter Twelve

  December 27, 1811

  Anne,

  Your gifts arrived. I am stunned that you have remembered me so. I hold the handkerchief in my hand and can hardly believe that the last hand that held it was yours. The embroidery is beautiful, Anne. Bertie was very impressed. He said you were never one for sitting at needlework for long, tedious hours. And yet you did it for us. For me. I trace the delicately wrought initials, the ivy pattern and the flowers, so small and perfect. You did this for me. Someday I will do you a turn, Anne. I will repay your kindness.

  The greatest miracle of all in a season of miracles was your letter, Anne. When Bertie read it aloud, and I heard my name there in the salutation, I didn’t know what to say or do. I am trying not to hope too much. But I cannot help it. All my hopes, all my dreams, they reside with you now, Anne. Bertie’s laughter at your greeting, his humorous comment about learning to share lodgings in your heart, which is bigger than our tent, I couldn’t breathe for the hope choking me. It’s too much. I want too much.
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  Brett

  * * * * *

  “Naked?” Anne laughed. “Who made these rules?” She stood up, and Freddy regretted the loss of her foot, but not for long. She turned her back to Brett. “Undo me?” she asked playfully. Brett started to stand.

  “No,” Freddy said, his fingers playing along the seam of the sofa cushion. He was thrilled when Brett stopped halfway out of his chair and then slowly sat back down.

  “It would appear that Freddy is making the rules.” He looked at Freddy with narrowed eyes. “For now.”

  Freddy smiled at them both. God, he wanted them, and he wanted them on his terms. He’d played their games, he’d done it their way, he’d given them what they asked for. It was his turn.

  “The second rule is Brett can’t touch Anne until Freddy says he can.” Freddy waited with bated breath for Brett’s response.

  Anne’s came first. She laughed out loud and clapped her hands in glee. “Oh I love it, Freddy! Is this game called torture Brett?”

  Brett’s eyes narrowed even more. His face tightened, his cheekbones becoming more prominent, his nose a little flatter across the bridge as his nostrils flared, his lips thinning even as he fought a smile. “I’m not sure I like this game.”

  Anne laughed harder and Freddy let a very satisfied smile settle on his mouth.

  “Freddy,” Brett drawled warningly. Freddy ignored him.

  “We are all going to enjoy this game,” Freddy told Anne. “Now come here and let me get you naked.” He gestured languidly with one hand as he uncrossed his legs and indicated Anne was to stand between his knees. She came with delightful alacrity and stood docilely while he made short work of the fastening on her dress. He slid the dress off her shoulders and followed it down her arms, pushing the sleeves off over her hands. With a lingering caress he ran his hands back up her arms and over her shoulders, making Anne shiver.